


Inside Man

by rivkat



Category: The Inside
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-25
Updated: 2009-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-05 06:33:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivkat/pseuds/rivkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For giandujakiss and livrelibre: Rebecca/Web/Paul UST, mindgames/trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inside Man

Paul jerked awake. Karen shifted, murmuring a wordless complaint, and rolled on her side, away from him. He considered trying to go back to sleep, but the memory of the dream stopped him.

His mind kept cycling back to it while he was putting the coffee on, then showering and shaving.

He’d been coming to the office to start the day, same as any other. Opened the door to Web’s office to check in, and—

Rebecca had been wearing a business suit, skirt hem ending just above her knees. Her calves were sleek, muscles tight; her heels matched the gray of the suit.

She’d been kneeling in front of Web, who had his arms crossed, his eyebrow raised, looking at Paul like he was demonstrating something. Rebecca’s eyes had been downcast, not looking at Web.

They’d been at least two feet apart, maybe more. Not touching, not close, no hint of movement in the air. Just a tableau, like Web had set it up just for Paul to see.

And still it felt like—if Paul was honest, it felt like _he_ was cheating.

Dreams weren’t exact analogues to waking thoughts, he knew that, but knowledge was very little help. Most of their targets _knew_ what they were doing was wrong. They just couldn’t stop.

That day Paul and Rebecca spent reading through ten sets of hospital records; their killer deliberately infected patients with MRSA.

The next night he found himself in a well-appointed restaurant. Rebecca was wearing a sleeveless, boat-necked black dress and a string of pearls. Her hair was swept back, out of her face, elegant. She was sitting next to Paul, across from that kid from the bar, Corey Hall. Hall looked good in his suit, real Hollywood.

Paul was seated across from Web, who wore his usual smirk as he watched Paul watch Rebecca.

“I think I’ll have the blood jelly,” Rebecca said, closing her menu with a sound like a slap.

Hall smiled at her, lovestruck.

“Very good, Rebecca,” Web said. “What about you, Paul?”

“None for me,” Paul said. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

Web tilted his head. “Are you sure about that?”

“No,” Paul said. “Have you seen what’s in the kitchen?”

Web shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me.” He looked around and signalled for the waiter. “So, Paul. Tell me: Is Corey a good lover?”

Paul didn’t look at Rebecca. “Not for her,” he said.

“And why is that?” His voice, honey over charcoal, seeped into Paul’s brain. It was like being drunk, except the reverse: total clarity, total indifference, total precision.

“She needs something else. Something special.”

“Does she need to be hurt?”

It wasn’t just because of Web’s suggestion that he knew it couldn’t be true. He imagined it—her—how she’d be, bruised maybe, marked up. That wasn’t the way to get to Rebecca, never would be, not any more. Rebecca Locke (the e is silent) didn’t want or need pain from her partners.

He shook his head in negation and watched the slow spread of Web’s proud smile.

He woke, or at least thought he did, and he was still shaking. He threw up his breakfast before he got into his car.

They interrogated the suspect for three hours before he confessed. He liked, he said, to watch the rot progress.

Paul stared at Rebecca’s face while she was writing up the final report and thought about buried things. Worms, bacteria, hearts.

“Rebecca?” Web asked, opening his door and gesturing for her, the same motion he’d used to summon the waiter in Paul’s dream. “Can I speak to you privately?”

“Of course,” she said, and stood, so smooth it might have been automatic.

The door closed with a click like a gas flame springing to life, blue-white.

He wanted to ask her if they were doing this together, the two of them.

He knew better, though. Web had set up the path.

But when Paul fell, he’d be on his own.


End file.
